


A Day in the Life

by YouRunWithTheWolves



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Bodyswap, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-01
Updated: 2013-08-08
Packaged: 2017-12-13 14:33:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/825395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YouRunWithTheWolves/pseuds/YouRunWithTheWolves
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>“What?” Stiles asked defensively, glancing away from the road to look right back at him. “It’s true, you’re all surly and fussy. You’re even trying to do the thing with the eyebrows.”</i><br/> <br/><i>Scott’s frown deepened hilariously.</i></p><p>  <i>“What are you going on about, now?”</i></p><p>  <i>“Oh come on! You know! Derek doesn’t really explain things to us, he eyebrows us. You know. You’re eyebrowing me. Big time.”</i></p><p>  <i>Scott sent Stiles the flattest look ever, and shook his head before repeating his words incredulously, “eyebrowing me.” </i><br/> <br/> </p><p>(Or the fic where lessons are learned because BODYSWAP?)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Stiles woke up to the sound of his phone ringing. He blearily patted the nightstand to fetch it but only managed to knock down his watch and his lamp from it. The ringing stopped. He sat up and groaned. The screen of his phone was still lit up in the dark, conveniently signaling its position. He grabbed it and unlocked it, the light going more intense. He narrowed his eyes as much as he could not to be blinded.

****

_**5 missed calls.** _

****

From Scott. He got up so quickly he almost tripped over his own feet. Was Scott in trouble? Why didn’t he wake up before? Oh, God. Five calls. What the hell had happened _now_? His brain was still deep in sleep-fog, but he managed to call Scott back. His heart beating loudly in his chest, he listened to the dial tone anxiously. After what felt like a lifetime, Scott answered.

****

“Stiles!”

****

He was out of breath, and he sounded wrong. His voice was all high-pitched and panicked. Stiles’s upper-lip was already gathering drops of cold sweat.

****

“What’s going on? Are you okay?” he asked immediately, ready to put on his shoes.

****

“Yes, yes I’m -- Hey! Derek, stop --”

****

And the line went dead. Stiles stared at his phone incredulously. Was Derek at Scott’s house? What the hell for? Stiles glanced at his clock. It was almost 5 A.M. He tried to call back, but the line went straight to voicemail. Stiles had serious trouble believing Derek would attack Scott. He had no trouble controlling his shift, and it wasn’t even the full moon. Granted, Scott and him were basically opposed on literally everything, but for some reason it didn’t feel like a good enough reason to go to Scott’s at ass o’clock to murder him. Like, pick a decent hour at least. He had less trouble believing Derek had been creeping around in Scott’s bedroom though. Either way, something really weird was happening and he wasn’t there to witness it. He would not be out of the loop, thank you very much. He’d seen (and was guilty of) what it’d done to Lydia, so he finished putting on his sneakers and slipped out of the house silently.

****  
-** **

****

When he arrived in Scott’s driveway, he was relieved to see Melissa’s car wasn’t there. She was probably on call at the hospital. He used his key to get in while quickly deciding whether to run upstairs right away or to go with a careful and silent approach.

****

The house was dark and silent, which made him extremely uncomfortable. He had this awful mental image of Scott bleeding to death on his bedroom floor and thought, _Fuck the silent approach_. He bolted up the stairs and slammed Scott’s door open only to find him sitting miserably on the edge of his mattress.

****

“Are you dying?” Stiles blurted out, chest already heaving with stress and exertion. Those stairs were steep, alright?

****

Scott snorted unattractively.

****

“I knew you’d come,” he said, rolling his eyes.

****

Stiles closed his gaping mouth and frowned at his almost-disappointed tone.

****

“Well ex _cuse_ me! I was worried! It was the stuff from horror movies, alright? A call at the crack of dawn, where you babble some nonsense about Derek and the line goes dead. What happened? Where’s Derek?”

****

He sat down heavily on the comfy chair Scott had put in the corner. Seeing him sitting moodily on his bed was better than watching him bleed to death on the rug, so he breathed a long sigh of relief and waited patiently for Scott’s explanation.

****

“It was nothing. I shouldn’t have called you. It was really dumb of me.”

****

He said that last part with so much disdain Stiles flinched.

****

“You’re not telling me everything. What about Derek?”

****

“He’s gone now, it doesn’t matter. I swear.”

****

He wasn’t looking at Stiles, eyes trained on his own feet. Stiles didn’t believe a word of it, but Scott was obviously okay, so the problem could wait.

****

He took off his shoes and declared, “Well, move over, I’m staying here until morning -- I mean, actual morning. You got me out of bed and scared me to death for no fucking reason, so I’mma finish my night here.”

****

He had left in such a hurry he still had his pajama pants on. He took his shirt off.

****

“Come on, move over.”

****

“Uh.”

****

Scott’s eyes darted from left to right, looking alarmed. He finally, finally looked at Stiles and rolled his whole face. Eyes, head, neck, everything kind of rolled in a way that was so theatrical that Stiles couldn’t help but laugh even though he was confused as to why he was suddenly so annoying. It wasn’t like he had never shared Scott’s bed.

****

Scott eyed him suspiciously and almost reluctantly settled under the blankets on the far left of his bed. Stiles turned the light off and climbed in next to him. Scott had turned so Stiles had to face his back. Fair enough. The heat of both of their bodies quickly warmed the sheets and Stiles fell asleep easily.

****  
-** **

****

When he opened his eyes it was really sunny outside and he closed them back immediately, feeling really comfortable in his bundle of blankets, surrounded by Scott’s scent. It smelled like home.

****

Five blissful minutes passed, where he listened to Scott’s breathing and tried to go back to sleep. Five minutes before he realized it was a school day and no alarm woke him up. He bolted upright in the bed, practically climbing over Scott’s sleeping form to look at the clock.

****

“Shit!”

****

They were so, so late.

****

“Scott, wake the fuck up,” he shook him hard and watched in disbelief as Scott burrowed himself further into the mattress, grumbling about God knows what.

****

Stiles did the next best thing and pushed his body toward the edge of the bed with all his strength and Scott hit the floor with a dull thud, taking all the sheets wit him.

****

“You didn’t set up any alarm, you moron?” Stiles yelled, already digging into Scott’s drawer for some clean clothes.

****

“What alarm?” Scott mumbled, voice dripping with annoyance from his blanket mountain on the floor.

****

“We’re late for class, get dressed or I’m leaving without you.”

****

“Good,” Scott spat back, and went right back to sleep on the floorboards.

****

“What?”

****

Stiles half-hopped to where Scott was lying, attempting the difficult art of putting jeans on while walking.

****

“What are you saying? Get up, I’m not joking.”

****

He threw random clothes at his best friend’s unusual grumpy face. Scott just stared at them with an unimpressed look.

****

The following moments saw Stiles trying to wrestle Scott into a shirt. Insults and disbelieving screams were exchanged until the front door opening and closing had them both freeze up; Stiles practically straddling him with his hands trying to tug down the t-shirt, and Scott’s head stuck in the sleeve.

****

“Scott? Are you still here?” Melissa called from downstairs. “Are you kidding me? If you’re asleep I’m going to kick your ass into next year.”

****

Stiles hastily clambered up just as the door slammed open and a very angry mother stepped inside.

****

“Stiles,” she said, deflating. “Of course.” After a second she added, “You weren’t there when I left last night.”

****

“I came to pick up Scott but he’s being _extremely difficult_ ,” Stiles lied with a pointed look in Scott’s direction.

****

Scott finally tugged his shirt down with his head in the right hole and quickly put his pants on.

****

“Get the hell out, now, both of you. You’re more than late. We’ll talk about this later,” she ordered with a firm voice.

****

“I don’t have time for this,” Scott mumbled, and Stiles winced when he realized Melissa had heard it too.

****

She stared down at him with a look that could melt glaciers and Scott paled. He grabbed his bag before quickly passing in front of his mother with his head bowed, not adding one word. Stiles followed him with the same sheepish expression, refraining from telling Scott half of the books they needed for today were still on his desk instead of inside his bag. Melissa was pissed enough without knowing his son was a scatterbrain, so he shut up.

****  
-** **

****

The drive to school was excruciatingly silent.

****

“Are you pouting?”

****

A grunt.

****

“Seriously, man. What’s wrong with you?”

****

A shrug.

****

“Jesus Christ, Derek is rubbing off on you,” Stiles sighed, giving up.

****

Scott’s eyes turned to him sharply, and Stiles felt like he was under the microscope of a mad scientist. Carefully pulling everything apart, slowly.

****

“What?” Stiles asked defensively, glancing away from the road to look right back at him. “It’s true, you’re all surly and fussy. You’re even trying to do the thing with the eyebrows.”

****

Scott’s frown deepened hilariously.

****

“What are you going on about, now?”

****

“Oh come on! You know! He doesn’t really explain things to us, he eyebrows us. You know. You’re eyebrowing me. Big time.”

****

Scott sent Stiles the flattest look ever, and shook his head before repeating his words incredulously, “ _eyebrowing me._ ” 

****  
-** **

****

Econ was disturbing for three reasons.

First, Finstock.

Second, Scott did not look at Allison once.

Third, Scott did in fact know what the hell was going on in this class, as opposed to everyone else, because he managed to answer questions with a minimum of exasperated sighs. Half of them weren’t even about subjects they had covered, because Finstock was feeling like a dick. Nevertheless, Scott knew his stuff. It was freaking weird. Finstock was little perplexed. Stiles was definitely freaking out.

****

****-** **

****

“I’m freaking out,” he said to Allison when Scott almost ran out the door the moment it was time to go to lunch.

****

Allison turned to him with a start. She studied him suspiciously for a minute, and probably deemed him freaked out enough to be heard out.

****

“I don’t want to talk about Scott,” she warned.

****

“Too bad,” Stiles replied.

 

****

“Look at him,” Stiles said, a few minutes later, observing Scott from a distance.

****

He was sitting alone at a table and glared really menacingly at anyone who approached his territory.

****

“It is -- kind of weird,” Allison admitted next to him, “But I don’t see --”

****

“All I’m asking is that you go talk to him. About whatever. I don’t care. And then you report back to me about how he reacted. You’ll see what I mean.”

****

“I don’t want --”

****

Okay, time for the big guns.

****

“Please. What if he’s in danger? Something is happening. I’m sorry to involve you but I’m asking for him. Please.”

****

Allison stared at him for a long time. She angrily stabbed a piece of chicken with her fork, no doubt imagining it was his face and let out a frustrated sigh.

****

“I hate you.”

****

“Okay,” Stiles nodded, relieved because he knew he’d won. “Go now, my noble knight!”

****

Allison threw him a nasty look and got up to make her way to Scott’s table. He narrowed his eyes at her and immediately plunged his nose back in his food, like looking at her too long would turn him into stone. When she sat down in front of him, he didn’t look up. Stiles didn’t have super hearing, so he focused solely on Scott’s behavior. He fidgeted on his chair, visibly ill-at-ease. Allison insisted in talking to him, going as far as extending her hand to touch his. Scott’s jaw was so tight Stiles could almost hear his teeth grinding together. He didn’t put his hand away but snapped something at her. She recoiled, her eyes widening in surprise and in something else that made Stiles feel like shit for making her do this.

****

She got up again and made her way back to Stiles, without looking back at Scott. Stiles saw him deflate the moment she was gone, and he watched her go, his face looking pathetically sad.

****

“Let’s go somewhere else,” she said. “I don’t want him to hear us.”

 

****-** **

 

Stiles leaned on the bumper of his Jeep on the school parking lot.

****

“So, what do you think? Is he strange or what?”

****

“That’s not Scott,” she said in a final tone of voice.

****

“I know, he changed overni--”

****

“No, you don’t understand. That’s _not Scott_ ,” she said again with more strength.

****

“Stiles!”

****

They both turned to look at a very peculiar-looking Derek sauntering their way.

****

“Oh my God, dude, I’m so happy to see you,” he said, grabbing both of Stiles’s shoulders.

****

Stiles stared. And stared some more. He wanted to say something. He was going to open his mouth and say something. But he could only stare in horror as Derek seemingly noticed Allison and broke into babbling teenager mode.

****

“Allison, hi,” he said with a shy smile.

****

A shy smile. Stiles took a step back, because it was physically impossible for him to stay in the vicinity of this nightmare. Allison’s eyes widened and looked at Stiles for help. Stiles put his hands in front of him in a defensive pose, shamelessly leaving her to her own devices because he hadn’t figured how to deal with this yet.

****

Derek seemed to come to his senses because he looked down at himself -- he was wearing a blue hoodie and some jeans, for fuck’s sake -- and sighed.

****

“Oh yeah. I forgot. I should have worn the leather jacket I guess.”

****

Stiles’s eyes were so round he was convinced they were going to pop out of his head and roll down the floor like marbles.

****

“What the fuck, man?”

****

“He’s going to kill me, oh my God,” Derek moaned, in a perfect imitation of Scott when he had done something he didn’t want to tell his mom.

****

The words, intonation and overall delivery were so out of place in Derek’s mouth that Allison couldn’t help the small smile that crept up her face. She tried to hide it behind her hand.

****

“Oh, no,” she said just as Scott appeared out of nowhere to clasp a hand on Derek’s mouth.

****

Stiles took another step back, because he suddenly wanted to break into a bad imitation of the Sassy Gay Friend. Because what, what, _what_ was Scott doing? Did he want to get his hand chewed out?

****

“We’re leaving,” Scott declared, his voice low and threatening.

****

Derek wiggled free easily.

****

“Ha! I’m stronger than you are,” he crowed, delighted, and Stiles did a double take, his preconceived ideas about Derek crumbling to the ground one by one.

****

“Shut up,” Scott snapped.

****

Allison pushed Scott away with a scowl, “Both of you shut up.”

****

“You’re defending Derek, now? What -- what -- to say I’m confused is the understatement of the fucking century,” Stiles said.

****

Scott opened his mouth, but so did Allison and Derek and Stiles only heard a jumble of words that did not make any sense. Allison groaned and yelled at them to shut the fuck up. Stiles agreed wholeheartedly. She took a deep breath.

****

“Scott’s in Derek’s body. Derek is right here,” she pointed at Scott’s face with disgust.

****  
-** **

****

“Why didn’t you say anything, you stupid man!” Stiles screamed somewhat hysterically in Scott’s -- Derek’s face. “I shared a bed with you oh, God.”

****

“What?” Scott-in-Derek’s-body demanded sharply. “You did not.”

****

“How could I have known? I went to your place this morning to see if you were okay --”

****

“Oh, sweet, you came after I called you,” Scott-as-Derek interrupted happily.

****

“-- and you were all -- well, Derek-as-you was all _I don’t wanna talk about it_ , and I was tired! So I slept!” Stiles finished in a flurry of limbs. "Why the hell was he here? Were the hell were you?"

 

"Derek didn't want to tell anyone!" Scott said defensively. "He broke my phone when I called you. I knew you'd come so he stayed to pretend he was me and threw me out with the keys to his place."

 

"You didn't put up much of a fight when you realized you'd get to drive the Camaro, though."

****

Derek-as-Scott sat in the corner of Stiles’s room. He was probably attempting his judging face, but with Scott’s traits it came out as a pout.

****

“And you slept with my best friend?” Scott turned to Derek, closing his fists tightly.

****

Derek stared. Stiles spluttered.

****

“We only _slept_ though, God, Scott. You have such a way with words.”

****

“What did you want me to do? I couldn’t kick him out, now, could I? He acted like it was a thing you guys did all the time. I would have been out of character.”

****

Allison snorted.

****

“Out of character,” she repeated in a mocking whisper.

****

“She’s got a point. You were never really in character, dude. You’re a bad actor. So are you, Scotty. I’ve never seen Derek’s face do that smiling thing.”

****

“I smile!” Derek protested.

****

“Not for real,” Stiles and Scott said at the same time.

****

Allison avoided Derek’s gaze after that, choosing to ignore rather than attack him. She directed her annoyance at Stiles instead.

****

“Oh, please, if he’s a bad actor then you’re just plain oblivious. You didn’t even realize Derek was actually Scott! I had to point it out to you.”

****

“So how did this happen?” Stiles asked, ignoring her regally.

****

“I need to pee,” Scott said, and Derek’s face contorted into an embarrassed pout.

****

Stiles twisted his lips together to prevent himself from bursting out laughing. Derek let out the longest sigh ever.

****

“Can’t you hold it until we figure this out?”

****

Scott thought about it.

****

“No.”

****

Stiles let out a strangled laugh, “Well go to the bathroom. Jeez, this will always be less embarrassing than if you pee yourself. Himself. I mean -- you know what I mean.”

****

When Scott sheepishly left the room, Allison turned to Derek, still hunched over on a chair in the corner, pouting.

****

“So. Want to tell us how it happened, why and how we can fix it?”

****

“Yeah, and why on earth did you want to keep it a secret?” Stiles added, his voice dripping with annoyance.

****

Derek got up and started pacing the length of the room.

****

“Believe it or not, it’s not something I’m particularly happy with. I don’t want anybody to know because I have enough problems as it is with my betas. Also, I don’t like any of you, and I didn’t need you incessant sarcastic commentary.”

****

The last bit was directed at Stiles. He shrugged. Whatever.

****

“I think you’re scared Scott will use that opportunity to rally Erica, Boyd and Isaac to his side,” Allison frowned. “Isaac is being really friendly with him these days.”

****

Derek crossed his arm and planted himself in front of her. Stiles couldn’t wrap his head around the fact that it was a thing that was actually happening, but he had no trouble seeing -- now that it had been pointed out to him, thanks Allison, shut up -- that it was definitely Derek in Scott’s body. Stiles couldn’t even remember a single instance where Scott’s body language was so _closed_ and defensive. Nevertheless, the look suited him apparently, because his biceps bulged a bit and he seemed taller. Stiles kicked himself for thinking that, but he looked kind of intimidating.

****

Derek actually managed to make Scott-without-his-wolf-face sort of imposing.

****

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said with a low voice.

****

Scott had a deeper tone of voice than Derek and Derek apparently made full use of it as it visibly sent chills down Allison’s spine. She didn’t back away though. Stiles, on the other hand, subtly took a little step back behind her.

****

Scott came back from his bathroom emergency and Derek shook himself before resuming his pacing.

****

“As for how it happened -- I have no idea. I just woke up like this last night and I came to see if Scott had the same --”

****

“Problem,” Scott-as-Derek finished.

****

“Did you wash your hands?” Derek asked, scrunching up his face.

****

Scott-in-Derek’s body rolled his eyes. It went well with his new face.

****

“Yes, _Mom_.”

****

“Why did this happen?” Allison interrupted, placing a soothing hand on Scott’s arm.

****

Stiles knew it was Scott but still, seeing Derek’s body so open and easy around Allison was the weirdest thing to witness. She was clearly above it all, unlike Stiles, who regularly caught himself automatically gravitating towards Scott’s body, currently occupied by Derek.

****

“I told you, I don’t know!”

****

“Deaton,” Scott breathed, like he’d just been punched in the stomach. “Oh my God, he _didn’t_ \--!”

****

Derek’s eyebrows -- well, really Scott’s eyebrows -- tried to do a complicated dance on his forehead, but stiles could not make sense of it. They weren’t as mobile as Derek’s.

****

“Oh, come on dude! You’re eyebrowing us again!” Stiles exclaimed, throwing a hand up in his direction. “I can’t translate when they’re not yours. Sorry. You’ll have to use words.”

****

Scott shook his head and punched his shoulder lightly. “Just shut up.”

****

“Deaton?” Allison asked.

****

“We were at the clinic yesterday evening. And he might have said some stuff...”

****

“He said we had to learn to work together,” Derek said, throwing a dark look in Scott’s direction, but quickly turned his eyes back to Stiles. “Then --”

****

“He said we had to understand what it is like to be the other,” Scott finished in a rush, scandalized.

****

“Oh, wow. You need to confiscate his _Freaky Friday_ DVD until further notice,” Stiles nodded sagely.

****  
-** **

****

“Deaton!” Scott-with-Derek’s-voice bellowed, bursting through the door.

****

“I’m right here, there’s no need to yell, I assure you.”

****

Deaton came out of the back room, cool as a cucumber, considering each of them with a curious look. Stiles stood next to Scott loyally, staring at the veterinarian with what he hoped was a stern look. Derek chose to go in a corner, again, a little further away from them. Deaton’s eyes widened a little.

****

“Is everything alright?”

****

“Nope,” Stiles said flatly. Well, he tried to make it flat. It came out rather cheerful instead. Damn.

****

“Something happened,” Deaton said, voice lowering, like stating a fact.

****

Derek snorted from his corner of doom.

****

“Oh, stop acting so innocent, you did this to us,” he said.

****

Deaton opened his mouth but Stiles cut him off, because if no one was going to say it, then he would do it, damn it.

****

“Scott here,” he began, patting Scott-as-Derek’s arm, “was a little peeved this morning when he realized he wasn’t really in his cute but very manly sixteen-year-old body.”

****

Scott didn’t even take offense at the sarcasm. He just nodded stiffly, adding, “Almost seventeen, actually,” under his breath. For accuracy’s sake, Stiles guessed.

****

“And Derek over there,” Stiles went on, pointing at not-actually-Scott-but-Derek’s face, “terrorized the whole student body at school today because he tried to eyebrow them. He clearly forgot what it is to be a teenager because he actually insisted on sitting _alone at lunch_.”

****

Deaton looked from Derek to Scott, then from Scott to Derek and sighed.

****

“Oh, man.”

****  
-** **

****

“So you didn’t do it on purpose?” Derek rumbled, taking once again full advantage of Scott’s deeper voice.

****

“Yeah, right!” Scott scoffed.

****

“I promise you it wasn’t my intentions. I was working on some very powerful magic items yesterday and our conversation might have had an effect on them. Or rather, they had an effect on you. I was manipulating them, and some of my energy...”

****

He trailed off. His eyes shifted, and he looked a little embarrassed. It was fascinating to watch, Stiles thought.

****

“-- my wish was, uhm -- granted. So to speak.”

****

“Your wish!” Scott cried, dismayed.

****

“I never thought it would happen. I was unhappy with our discussion, and my emotions probably poured out into the magic items. I’m sorry. It’s not permanent and I’ll fix it. Until then, you’ll have to --”

****

“Wait a second,” Derek interrupted, “how long is it going to take?”

****

“Some days, maybe a few weeks?” Deaton winced, just as Scott threw his hands up, exasperated. “I need to do some research, even ask around to some of my contacts that dabble in magic...”

****

Scott hid his face in his hands and immediately started stroking his newfound stubble, with a bewildered expression. Derek was watching him with a begrudging sort of look, no doubt disturbed by the vision of himself marvelling at facial hair.

 **  
**“That’s just great,” Stiles said, and he was only half-joking.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, I apologize for any typo and tense switching. I do that a lot. Feel free to point the mistakes out to me so I can edit them out, I'll be forever grateful.

Stiles shook his head vehemently.

 

“No, no. Out of the question.”

 

“We have to, alright?” Derek argued, annoyed.

 

“I don’t think we do,” Scott tempered, ever the diplomat.

 

“This is going to complicate things so much.”

 

“It will be even more complicated if we start telling people,” Derek said firmly, before turning to Scott and adding, “Do you want to have to explain to your mother what happened, Scott?”

 

“She already knows about werewolves?” Scott said weakly, almost like a question.

 

“It’s too much. _I’m_ having trouble understanding what happened, how do you think she’s going to react? What about Stiles’s dad? Do you think we can just explain to him how _perfectly normal_ it is for his son to suddenly hang around this?” He gestured to Scott’s new and older body. “Cause I am not under the illusion you two idiots will stop being around each other,” he went on.

 

“He’s my boo,” Stiles shrugged obnoxiously, “and to be perfectly honest my dad is already super suspicious of you, dude. Like, you do hang around teenagers a lot, and you’re shady as fuck already, so.”

 

Derek sneered, unimpressed. Always unimpressed with Stiles. Again, he turned to Scott, giving up on Stiles.

 

“What about school? Is your mother going to agree that I take _your_ classes? You’re already failing most of them, she’ll think you’re trying to get out of that.”

 

Stiles had the distinct impression Derek was finding arguments as he went along, but Scott clamped his mouth shut, already convinced.

 

“We can tell your little betas,” Stiles suggested.

 

“No. I am the alpha. _Me_. Scott doesn’t know how to handle this power and I don’t want him ordering my betas around.”

 

“Well, if we don’t tell them I’ll have to pretend I’m you anyway!” Scott exclaimed, vexed.

 

“Exactly.”

 

Stiles narrowed his eyes at Derek, who was frowning moodily, probably forever ruining Scott’s smooth face with early wrinkles.

 

“I see what you’re doing. Allison was right. You’re scared Scott could be a better alpha than you are. If Isaac and co realize that, when everything goes back to normal -- you think they’ll come to us.”

 

He refrained from going any further; Stiles had struck a cord already. There was no need to talk about his loneliness and how his little pack of strays was obviously a way for him to get back a resemblance of family. Derek didn’t say anything. He was seething, no doubt hearing everything Stiles didn’t say. Scott sighed, oddly calm.

 

“I’m not trying to steal anything. But I guess it’ll be easier to just keep this to ourselves for the time being. And Derek does have some good points. So -- I guess we keep it a secret.”

 

Stiles was surprised Scott had picked up on the implied conversation as well, but he wasn’t by the fact that he was clearly more understanding of Derek’s feelings. Derek was visibly relieved. He swallowed and even Stiles heard the click of his throat.

 

“Thanks,” he said to Scott, forcing the words out, glancing at Stiles.

 

He and Derek stared at each other for a while, and Stiles had no idea what the hell was happening but he didn’t look away. Because he wasn’t going to back down in a staring contest. Stiles had more important things than Derek’s feelings to care about. Scott was there for that shit.

 

“This is so weird,” Scott broke the silence. “I’m feeling so... so...”

 

“What is it? Do you have to pee again?” Stiles asked, bemused.

 

“So... aware,” Scott finished, rather lamely.

 

“It’s your senses. They’re sharpened. Probably because I’m a born wolf, and even more so because I’m the --”

 

“Oh my God, we _know_ already,” Stiles interrupted, flapping his hand around. “You’re the alpha, yes you are, shut up about it!”

 

Scott shook his head and lowered it to hide his smirk. Derek just stared some more at Stiles, a little startled and mollified. He went back to his usual scowl rather quickly, his eyes promising revenge for that one. Whatever, bring it on.

 

“Anyway... you’re going to sense the betas too. Don’t freak out about it. It’s a sort of nagging feeling, but you’ll get used to it.”

 

Derek shuffled his feet in Scott’s shoes, and added quickly, like he hoped nobody would hear it, “And you’ll probably sense me too. And Stiles maybe?”

 

“What the hell?” Stiles demanded.

 

“What do you mean?” Scott asked more calmly.

 

“When I’m me -- actually me, body and all, I can sometimes feel stuff related to you. That’s how I can find you if you’re in trouble. Did you think I had you chipped or what?” he explained with a put-upon sigh.

 

“Well, you’re not my alpha, but I’m a werewolf, so I guess it makes sense,” Scott said quietly, missing the flash of hurt passing through his features. Stiles didn’t. He resolutely refused to feel sorry for him. Maybe it was just a trick of the light. Maybe it was Scott’s puppy face that made him look like that. Probably.

 

“What about Stiles?”

 

“I just -- I don’t know, I just thought that as he was your friend, maybe you would be able to be aware of him as one of your betas in my body? I’m not really sure, whatever. It doesn’t matter. Don’t be surprised if it happens is all.”

 

Derek didn’t look at either of them. Stiles couldn’t help but think he was missing something. Derek was omitting to tell them some details, he was sure of it. And his half-assed explanation didn’t even begin to answer Scott’s question. Still, Stiles didn’t want to push it, any thought of being in some way connected to Derek was disturbing enough. The silence between them stretched for a long time, each of them mulling over the new situation.

 

“So you’ll go to school as me?” Scott finally asked, face scrunched up adorably.

 

Stiles immediately chided himself for thinking _Derek_ ’s face was adorable.

 

“I guess,” he sighed, extremely disgruntled. “You’ll do your own homework, though. I did enough of that years ago. I’ll just show your face to your teachers and wake up in the morning for your mother but that’s it, got it?”

 

“What do I have to do, then?” Scott asked.

 

“Brood a lot, mainly,” Stiles piped up. “Wake up, do push-ups, scowl at your reflection in the mirror, then angrily eat breakfast, drink coffee -- black, no sugar. And then, run for your life when hunters come after you.”

 

Unsurprisingly, he was met with identical aggravated looks. Scott-as-Derek pushed him away lightly. Stiles tried to ignore the weird sensation of having Derek’s hand against him instead of Scott’s familiar touch.

 

“This isn’t funny, Stiles.”

 

“You already have the keys to my place,” Derek grunted, ignoring their bickering. “Just don’t do anything stupid. Lay low. I _do have_ hunters following me around.” He threw Stiles a nasty look. “It’s bad enough Allison knows. She could tell her father. So don’t give them a reason to attack. One of these reasons being that if they realize _I’m not me_ , they won’t hesitate to take me out. I mean, my body out. And I don't want to be stuck in your body forever. I don't even know what would happen, to be honest, so let's not find out.”

 

Scott frowned, mouth already opened in protest.

 

“I don't mean to say that you’re weak, Scott,” Derek replied, equally as angry. “They might _think_ you are, and take advantage of that. Be there for the betas, act like you’re me. That’s all.”

 

Scott stalled, understandably creeped out at the idea of letting Derek go back to his house, to his mother, to his life. He toyed with the keys to the loft while explaining succinctly to him his habits and what his mom would expect of him. Derek nodded along impatiently, clearly ready to end the conversation.

 

“If you have a problem, just call Stiles, okay? He’s always at home anyway, and it won’t bother anyone.”

 

“I won’t have any --”

 

Stiles rolled his eyes, and dragged Scott to the Camaro before Derek could finish. “Yeah, yeah. Keep telling yourself that! Come on Scott, let’s get you to his Den of Inequity.”

 

Derek made a frustrated sound and laid a flat hand against the car door so none of them could open it.

 

“If you let Stiles drive, I’ll make myself look so ridiculous at school you’ll wish you’d never been born.”

 

“Psh, you say that like Scott has a reputation to destroy,” Stiles said mildly.

 

“Hey! I’m on the Lacrosse team, now.”

 

“Details, Scott.”

 

Derek leaned a little bit into Stiles menacingly, his nose almost bumping his. Stiles felt Scott getting restless next to him, probably wondering if he should intervene or not.

 

“Just don’t drive,” Derek said with a low voice.

 

Stiles took advantage of the very short distance between them and placed a quick, gone-in-a-flash kiss on the tip of Derek’s nose. It definitely helped that Derek was then sporting a Scott-suit: Stiles was comfortable enough with Scott’s body to do it. Nevertheless, Scott and Derek made the same gargling noise of disbelief. Derek took a step back, widening his Scott-brown eyes, face going slack with surprise, as Scott took a step forward staring down at him with a look of utter betrayal on his face.

 

“Stop,” he said with a flat voice to no one in particular, before adding quickly, “I’ll drive.”

 

Derek was still frozen in the middle of the parking lot when Scott and Stiles drove away in his car. If Stiles had known a little kiss on the nose was all it took to shut somebody up, he would have kissed Derek a long time ago. Hell, he would have kissed _Finstock_ a long time ago, Jesus. He said as well to Scott, who spluttered.

 

“Do you listen to yourself?” Scott exclaimed, outraged. “Kissing Derek, really? Nothing shocks you in that statement. This is what ‘normal’ is for you.”

 

Stiles rolled his eyes to hide his own embarrassment, purposefully avoiding looking at Scott’s face, which inevitably made him think of the real Derek and what if would feel like to actually make out with him.

 

“I didn’t mean it that way,” Stiles grumbled.

 

Would Derek give him stubble-burn?

 

“Stop freaking out, Scott,” he went on.

 

Would his lips be soft and warm?

 

“I don’t think about kissing Derek.”

 

Would he bite at Stiles’s lips or be gentle?

 

“Ever.”

 

Scott didn’t say anything else. Stiles chanced a look at his best friend. Scott made Derek look younger. He wasn’t gripping the steering wheel tightly, and his face was less tense, more relaxed and open than Stiles had ever seen it. He stared a bit longer than necessary, just because he could, and Scott finally threw him a suspicious look.

 

“What?”

 

“What?”

 

“What’you looking at?”

 

“I’m looking for the sideburns,” Stiles replied on the spot, trying not to blush at getting caught staring.

 

“The what?”

 

“You know when you and Derek go all Big Bad Wolf, they just sprout out of nowhere and --”

 

“Shut up,” Scott interrupted with a roll of his eyes, pulling the car to a final stop.

  
  
  


The loft was pretty badass, Stiles had to admit. Very little furniture, of course. Derek looked like a minimalist. He also looked like a guy who appreciated the luxury of knowing he could abandon a place without looking back. A double bed with dark sheets was in a corner of the room. There was a table, a couch and a dirty set of bay windows taking up almost all of the wall. The kitchen was at the other side of the room, with a small fridge. That was it. That was the whole place. Stiles hoped to god the bathroom was upstairs or something.

 

“This is kinda creepy, I’m not going to be able to sleep here,” Scott muttered.

 

“I bet you anything somebody died in here at some point,” Stiles half-joked.

 

Scott glared before shrugging and grumbling, “You know, I wouldn’t even be surprised...”

 

Stiles snorted just as Erica’s voice echoed through the place.

 

“Derek? Are you back already?”

 

“Shit,” Scott whispered to Stiles, in a panic. “I’m not ready, I’m not ready!”

 

Stiles shushed him and gripped his shoulders tight, scared of saying anything Erica would be able to hear. He shook him once and gave him a look. A look that replaced -- well, he hoped -- all the pep-talks in the world.

 

Erica started to climb down the stairs, barefoot and dressed rather casually. She looked like she lived here. Stiles’s heartbeat quickened. Were Derek and Erica dating? If they were, then why didn’t Derek say anything? The bastard. This was complicated enough. Another wave of panic hit him when he realized Scott, parading as Derek, would have to fake it with her and that was definitely not good, not good at all.

 

Stiles opened his mouth to tell her everything, because fuck this. He refused seeing his best buddy break his own heart dating anyone else but Allison, _while in Derek’s body, impersonating him_. It was just messed up for everyone involved and Stiles was right, the betas should know. But Scott was the fastest one to speak.

 

“Yeah. What are  you doing here?”

 

Stiles was impressed with the perfect balance of annoyance and acceptance in his voice. He actually turned toward him and forgot he wasn’t Derek for a second.

 

“I didn’t want to go back home right after school. Don’t worry, I have a date with Boyd anyway. I was leaving.”

 

Stiles breathed a sigh of relief, something weird in his gut loosening. She considered Stiles for a moment, eyes flicking up and down, from head to toe.

 

“What’s _he_ doing here?”

 

Scott stared at Erica, obviously incapable of coming up with a lie. Stiles internally applauded his staring in silence response. Very Dereky.

 

“Research,” Stiles blurted out.

 

“There’s no WiFi here yet,” Erica said, narrowing her eyes.

 

“Books are a thing, Erica,” Scott snapped.

 

Again, Stiles was weirded out by how Derek-like Scott was acting. Now was not the time to get confused.

 

“I don’t see any,” she replied, undeterred. “Researching what?”

 

“Nothing interesting. Go have fun with Boyd,” Scott said.

 

She gracefully slipped past them, putting her trademark “Hale Pack” leather jacket on, slipping her shoes on, before turning around and leaning into Scott’s space really close, whispering something in his ear. Stiles couldn’t hear a thing and mentally screamed in frustration.

 

Scott blushed, and made Derek’s whole face look absolutely mind-melting. Stiles stared at him with a mixture of horror and fascination, almost wanting to touch the tip of his ears, just to check if they were hot because of the rush of blood. Erica smirked and left without further ado.

 

“What did she say?” Stiles asked, poking at Scott’s arm -- the most comfortable and safest body part Stiles could think of.

 

“You don’t wanna know.”

 

“I really, really do, man.”

 

“Trust me you don’t. I wish I didn’t.”

 

Stiles groaned.

 

“Oh my God, just spit it out!”

 

Scott stared vaguely at the door and without meeting Stiles’s eyes, said, “She said some condoms were upstairs in the top drawer and that she wouldn’t tell anyone about us. She said to be ‘gentle with you’.”

 

The last part of his sentence was barely audible, kind of strangled and tainted with disbelief. Stiles swallowed thickly.

 

“I meant she wouldn’t tell anyone about you and _Derek_ , obviously,” Scott clarified after a beat, as if Stiles could seriously consider Scott and him ever finding themselves in a position where they’d need condoms to have sex with each other.

 

Stiles continued to stare blankly at Scott-as-Derek, and said the first thing that he deemed safe to actually voice aloud.

  
“Did you know Derek’s ears turn red when he blushes?”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IT'S BEEN SO LONG FRIENDS, I AM SO SORRY. I hope you'll like this chapter, it's very Stiles-and-Derek argue-and-sass-each-other heavy. 
> 
> Forgive the typos and mistakes, as always... [EDIT: I have now a beta and they're already great. All remaining mistakes are mine! You can find them on [tumblr](http://ineededathing.tumblr.com).]

“Derek has my number... some _how_. So don’t hesitate to use his phone to call me if you have an emergency,” Stiles reminded Scott.

 

He nodded solemnly and earnestly; Stiles smiled. Scott was making Derek’s face absolutely hilarious.

 

“You too. Seriously, text me. I’m probably gonna stay up all night anyway. I’m not falling asleep here.” He looked around warily, shuddering slightly.

 

“Whatever.” Stiles rolled his eyes. “Drop me off back home. I left my Jeep at school just to spite Derek and ride in his stupid speed car, remember?”

  
  
  


“That is completely ridiculous and inaccurate,” the Sheriff said, shaking his head in disappointment.

 

“It’s a TV show, dad, not a documentary.”

 

“A real Sheriff _can’t do_ that,” his dad grumbled anyway, crossing his arms. He glowered at the TV screen.

 

Stiles’s phone chirped, saving him from actually answering that. He fished it out of his pocket and blanched. It was a text from Scott. Well, a text from Scott’s _phone_. Which meant Derek was in trouble. Already.

 

_**Come over.** _

 

Stiles stared at the ceiling in silence, weighing his options. On one hand, Derek hadn’t said “please”, or written his request in the form of a question. Fuck you, Derek. On the other hand, Derek would never have texted Stiles if it wasn’t completely necessary and unavoidable. Or so Stiles liked to think. He turned to his dad, still frowning grouchily at the fake Sheriff on TV.

 

“Scott asked me to go over at his place.”

 

“Okay.”

 

Well, that was settled then. For a second, he had hoped his dad wouldn’t have allowed him to go out this late. He’d have an excuse to tell Derek to fuck off. Ugh. Helping Derek out was the worst. He got up and walked to the door before remembering his car was still on the school parking lot. Ugh. He had to take his old bike. Ugh.

 

“You’re sleeping at Scott’s, I’m not allowing you to come back home after ten on your bike,” his dad said sternly when Stiles was about to go out the door. “Poor Melissa will hate me for this.”

 

“She loves me,” Stiles squawked.

 

“From afar, yeah.”

 

Stiles marched right out the door, offended.

 

Luckily, Scott didn’t live that far from his house, and he was there in a little less than twenty minutes. The night was barely falling down, bathing everything in a strange purple light. He leaned his bike against the back of the house. He didn't knock on the back door and just let himself in.

 

“Stiles, you have to stop using a key to get in,” Melissa called from the kitchen, not even bothering to come out to check it was, in fact, Stiles.

 

“Sorry!” Stiles called back in a way that let on how un-sorry he was.

 

He bounced his way up the stairs, and on the last step, he stumbled head first into a very comfortable wall.

 

“Jesus, Scott!” Stiles righted himself immediately, steadying himself with two hands on his friend’s biceps. Then he remembered. “I mean, Derek.” He cleared his throat and carefully walked around him to get to Scott’s room, avoiding looking at his face.

 

Derek followed him like a very angry puppy, and closed the door behind him.

 

Stiles lifted his hand and widened his eyes questioningly. “So? What the hell am I doing here? You seem fine.”

 

“Melissa knows something is up.”Derek crossed his arms. It was a trademark thing for him to do and it didn’t suit Scott very well. He frowned even more. For some unfathomable reason, it made Stiles more uncomfortable than recognizing his best friend’s quirks in Derek’s body. Scott making Derek’s face endearing was one thing. Derek making Scott’s face all hard-edged and moody was another.

 

“What did you do?” Stiles asked immediately, because there was a ninety percent chance it was Derek’s fault.

 

“Nothing!”

 

“Did you make that face at her the whole time?” Stiles gestured sloppily to his whole scowling expression.

 

There was a significant pause before Derek answered. “Maybe,” he finally said, with a careful voice.

 

“I’m sure you didn’t even eat what she prepared for you, you ungrateful son.” Derek’s face went from angry to furious in an instant. “Well did you?”

 

“I wasn’t hungry! I’m not -- ungrateful.”

 

Stiles diverted the conversation quickly, realizing he’d been a bit tactless -- maybe. “Scott is always hungry. He gets really excited about food. As do I. You’re a freak.”

 

“It was a mistake, you shouldn’t have come. Go away.”

 

“Too late, buddy! Now I just want to stay and see how far I can go until you break my neck,” Stiles said happily before throwing himself down on Scott’s bed.

 

“You’re not gonna wait long. Just open your mouth one more time, I swear --”

 

A knock on the door thankfully interrupted Derek’s threat. Stiles smirked to hide his nervousness. Annoying Derek was very entertaining but also a wild -- but familiar -- ride on the adrenaline front. Like going bungee jumping. Stupid thing to do but, oh, so fun when after a few jumps, you get used to it.

 

Melissa poked her head through the door. “I’m leaving for the hospital. I’ll be back in the morning. Don’t go to bed too late. Stiles, your toothbrush is in the bottom drawer under the sink.”

 

Stiles nodded, even if he already knew where his emergency toothbrush at Scott’s house was. He had been the one to have the idea, after the ridiculous amount of time he found himself at the McCall house after nighttime, deciding to just sleep over instead of going home.

 

“Scotty, I left some chicken in the fridge for you,” Melissa added a little worriedly. “If you want. For -- later.”

 

Stiles swallowed around a weird lump in his throat. He mentally kicked Derek for adding to her worries. Derek was just staring at her a little dumbly, and _then_ , Stiles mentally kicked himself for not understanding sooner what was happening.

 

“Uh, thanks,” Derek finally muttered.

 

“You two stay here and be good. Don’t go chasing weird creatures in the night or whatever the hell is roaming the woods these days.” She laughed nervously before sobering up. “No, but seriously. Stay here.” She smiled thinly and closed the door softly behind her.

 

Derek sighed like it was a relief to see her gone and sat in Scott’s chair, by the window.

 

“So, you don’t know how to have a mom anymore,” Stiles blurted out, getting up from the bed.

 

Derek was making a very good job of pretending Stiles was not actually here. That was very, _very_ annoying.

 

“You’re even dumber than you look because why would you call the motherless kid to help you with mom stuff?” he snarled, trying to get a rise out of Derek.

 

It worked. “You have no idea what you’re saying, do you?” Derek snapped, getting up from the armchair and planting himself in front of him in one swift movement. He opened his mouth again to pour his anger and frustration all over Stiles but seemed to think better of it at the last second and went on with a quieter voice, “You have a dad, you have friends. Probably some distant relatives somewhere. You have a family. I have no one, I --” He cut himself off, breathing slowly through his nose to calm himself down.

 

Stiles had been frozen in place since Derek had gotten up and it felt like his whole body was suddenly coming back to life. He flailed backwards a little belatedly, trying to put some distance between the two of them, but Derek shot a hand out to grip his arm and reel him back to him again. “Melissa knows who her son is and it’s not me -- now, you’re supposed to know Scott by heart or some shit like that, so are you gonna help me or not?” He let go of his arm and watched him warily as he swayed a little.

 

“Well,” Stiles began, unable to prevent his voice from shaking a little with the adrenaline coming down, “since you asked so nicely...”

 

Derek rolled his eyes and sat back down on the chair, resolutely looking away. Stiles hoped to God he wasn’t going to cry or something because he wouldn’t know how to deal with that. He didn’t know what was worse: Derek crying with Scott’s puppy eyes -- or the eyes of real-Derek-in-his-own-body filling up with tears. Both options would probably be terrible to witness. He was already at a loss with handling a Derek who talked about his feelings, however aggressively -- so tears were a no-no.

 

Stiles took a deep breath, trying to shake away the feeling of Derek’s hand closing painfully on his upper arm, because it was ultimately Scott’s hand -- and Stiles’s memories of werewolf Scott losing himself a little and attacking him in the locker room months ago were still fresh in his mind.

 

“Well, first of all, hands off the goods,” Stiles finally said. Derek’s attention snapped back to him.

 

“I’m not doing anything!” he exclaimed, hilariously outraged.

 

“I’m talking about your tendency to get physical when things don’t go your way. Like when you crowd somebody up against a wall, or slam their face into a steering wheel or grip their arm so hard it’ll leave a bruise. Scott doesn’t do that,” Stiles explained, voice obnoxiously patronizing. He made a show of rubbing his arm, even if it didn’t hurt anymore. Whatever. Derek didn’t need to know that. “You’re a dick, Scott’s not. That’s pretty much it. Don’t be a dick, and Melissa will probably stop thinking you changed dramatically overnight.”

 

Derek opened his mouth but no sound came out. Eventually he seemed to give up on the idea of a comeback and just kept pressing his lips together and frowning angrily.

 

“You look constipated,” Stiles said. “Scott’s face is not well-suited to your emotions, wow.”

 

Derek closed his eyes and sighed long-sufferingly. He sagged further into the chair. “Fuck off,” he said quietly, around a sigh.

 

“Now, that’s more like it!” Stiles forced a smile. “You really sound like Scott, right now.”

 

The resemblance was eerie, actually. Scott -- _Derek_  opened one eye and huffed.

 

“Why am I not surprised that on a day to day basis, even Scott isn’t having any of your shit?”

 

“I don’t know, don’t ask me,” Stiles said, shrugging. He plopped himself down on the bed. After a beat of silence, he asked in the voice a teacher would take to taunt a student. “So, do you want to go back down and eat some chicken?”

 

“I’m not hung --”

 

“Wrong answer!” Stiles cut him off. “Hey, slide your claws back in! This is me helping. Get your ass up, chicken is waiting.”

  
  
  


“Everyday?” Derek asked a few minutes later, in front of a plate with a cold piece of chicken, eyebrows drawn together in confusion -- or admiration? Damn, Stiles missed Derek’s eyebrows so much. They made up for fifty percent of Derek’s body language, and right now, the lack of them really impeded Stiles’s reading of him.

 

“No. Scott brings her lunch only when Melissa’s on a late shift and can’t get home to eat or whatever. And that happens pretty often. Her schedule is on the fridge. So, don’t make her sad and forget to bring her food.”

 

Derek glared at his half-empty plate on the table and crossed his arms. “Hopefully this whole mess will be over before I need to deal with this -- and anyway, when does Scott even find the time to cook for someone else with everything happening around here, lately?” he mumbled. Stiles wasn’t sure the question was directed at him.

 

He shrugged, getting up to clean up their plates. “It’s Scott,” he explained lamely.

 

Derek sighed, and Stiles knew Derek burned to ask him something. It was something in the way his lips thinned. “Spit it out, wolfman,” he threw over his shoulder, placing the cutlery in the sink.

 

Derek groaned -- probably at the nickname -- and Stiles heard him wiggle a little on his chair. He cleared his throat. “So, how’s he doing, by the way?”

 

“Scott? Uh. Fine.”

 

“Okay,” Derek said, not looking at him, arms still crossed.

 

Stiles took pity on him and decided to throw him a metaphorical bone. “Well, he’s probably gonna sleep with the light on or something, but other than that, he found your place -- delightful.”

 

Derek rolled his eyes, relaxing a bit. “It’s not that austere.”

 

“Ooh, _austere._ Nice one,” Stiles teased, leaning against the counter. “He thinks somebody died in there.”

 

Derek uncrossed his arms, reaching for an apple in the fruit bowl at the center of the table. “Not yet,” he grunted.

 

“You are a ray of fucking sunshine,” Stiles sighed, shaking his head. “Oh, and we met Erica on her way out.”

 

“What?” Derek’s head snapped back to him, apple held untouched in front of his mouth.

 

“Don’t worry, Scott does a better job than you when it comes to play a role. Actually, I think he did a better job than _you_ at being you. He snapped some stuff at her, asked her to leave and she did. Smoke and mirrors, my friend.” He toyed with the idea of telling Derek what she had whispered in Scott’s ear, but it was equally as embarrassing for him as it was for Derek, so he refrained.

 

“Anything new from Deaton?”

 

“Dude, it’s been less than a full day. I think you have to be more patient.”

 

“Easy for you to say,” Derek said mulishly. Again, he momentarily sounded like Scott. Stiles smiled.

 

“What are you talking about? It’s not easy, I’m stuck with you instead of my --”

 

“Boo.”

 

“Huh?”

 

“Scott’s your boo, right?” Derek said, smirking. “Isn’t that what you said on the parking lot, today?”

 

“If you’re trying to embarrass me, it’s a lost cause, dude. Scott _is_ my boo. I’m not ashamed to admit it. He’s loyal and _oh my God_ , look at his biceps,” Stiles said slyly, reaching a hand out to squeeze Derek’s arm as he passed him to sit back at the table.

 

“You’re ridiculous.” Derek finally took a bite of the apple, shrugging off Stiles’s hand easily but gently.

 

Stiles smirked self-satisfyingly. “So, listen,” he began, sitting back across the table from him.

 

Derek tensed up immediately; the apple chewing stopped and his eyes widened in panic. “What,” he said warily, like Stiles was a ticking time-bomb.

 

“I didn’t get the chance to ask Scott, but... What’s it like?”

 

“What’s what like?”

 

“Don’t play dumb. The whole swapping bodies thing! What’s it like to be someone else? You’re shorter in Scott’s body -- does it change your worldview a lot? Also, how his eyesight? Is it different from your usual one? Does he see colors differently? Like, you could actually prove whether or not everything is relative or if it’s absolute. Is red really red, or do we each see it in a different shade?”

 

Derek blinked twice rapidly.

 

“Also, Scott hates coffee. Like, everything about it. The smell, the taste, the freaking texture. _Everything_. Would you hate coffee too in his body? Or do your tastes trump his?”

 

“I don’t like coffee either,” Derek said weakly.

 

“You’re deliberately missing the point!” Stiles exclaimed agitatedly. “What. Is it. _Like_?”

 

Derek stayed silent for a few seconds, and Stiles let him. He’d need a moment too to resist an assault like the one he’d just launched.

 

“I don’t know,” Derek said finally.

 

Lame.

 

“I mean, the only thing that is really noticeable is that I feel like I’m sixteen and --” he went on.

 

“Scott’s seventeen,” Stiles said, interrupting him on purpose.

 

“ -- I feel like a _teenager_ ,” Derek corrected pointedly, throwing him a dirty look, “and believe it or not, but that’s not new to me, as I _have_ been one at one point. So, I’m not really out of my depth here.”

 

Stiles was bubbling up with another set of burning questions. He leaned forward on the table in an attempt to contain his excitement and show his interest. “How old are you anyway?” he blurted out.

 

Derek frowned. “You don’t know?”

 

“I’m asking, dumbass. What do you think?”

 

Derek resumed chewing on his apple, suddenly remembering he was eating something. “How old do you think I am?”

 

“Thirty five,” Stiles said instantly, not even pausing to think about it. He immediately regretted it because it was clearly the weirdest thing he had said all night. Derek did not look thirty five. Now that the number was out there in the open, he couldn’t possibly take it back, so he chose to stand by it, even when he saw Derek open his mouth in protest and the way he made Scott’s eyes narrow in anger.

 

“ _Thirty fi_ \-- what? Are you serious right now?”

 

“I don’t know man, you have a lot of stubble. I mean. Usually.” Stiles gestured at Scott’s baby smooth skin.

 

“I’m not that old, you idiot.”

 

“Yeah, I should have known. You do hang out with a lot of high schoolers.” Stiles leaned against the back of the chair again, putting some distance between them.

 

But Derek was closed off again, his frown was back and he clamped his mouth shut. Stiles had no idea why his knee jerk reaction to Derek’s everything was to be sarcastic. He couldn’t help himself. And watching Derek get increasingly annoyed at him, oddly enough, was the greatest sensation. But still, he toned the sass down a bit. He had some questions and the need to know everything was stronger.

 

So he said, “You never volunteer any information about yourself, dude. How the hell should we know how old you are? You’re like this weird shadow of a man. Definitely real, but not really here. Like, I’m sure you need to eat, but there is no way on earth I can imagine you going grocery shopping. It just -- doesn’t compute.”

 

Derek scoffed, shaking his head. Then he leaned back on the chair too, his face decided, like he wanted to prove something. “You wanna know what’s really weird?”

 

Stiles tried to contain his curiosity and only nodded, if a little violently.

 

“My voice. I mean -- my real voice. When Scott talked, I didn’t recognize it. I didn’t know it sounded like that to other people and it freaked me out more than anything else.”

 

Stiles snorted, amused in spite of himself. “We all hear our voice lower-pitched than it really is,” he said.

 

“I know. It’s just disturbing, is all. _You’ve_ got a deeper timbre than _I_ have,” Derek said, almost accusingly.

 

“Don’t be jealous,” Stiles teased, crossing his arms to have something to do with them, suddenly feeling a little bit stiff. It hadn’t been a compliment, but it _had_ been close enough for Stiles to feel a blush creeping up on his face.

 

Derek looked at him flatly to make sure Stiles saw how done with him he was. Silence stretched comfortably.

 

“You should go home,” Derek finally said, getting up slowly.

 

“Can’t,” Stiles replied, mirroring his movements. He tried to keep the disappointment out of his voice. It’s not like he wanted to spend more time with Derek either, right?

 

“You’re not sleeping here.”

 

“In the kitchen?” Stiles asked, all fake innocence. “No, you’re right, I guess a bed would be better. Glad we’re on the same page, buddy!” He clapped him on the back as he scampered up the stairs before Derek could grab him and throw him out.

 

He reached Scott’s bedroom and when it was clear Derek wasn’t following him, he changed in sweatpants and a soft t-shirt. He wasn’t tired but he slotted himself between the sheets, wondering if the fucking idiot downstairs had resolved to sleep on the couch. Wouldn’t _that_ be easy to explain to Melissa the next day.

 

An hour and a half later he was still brooding and grumbling under his breath about Derek’s inability to share a bed with him --as if he were contagious or something, _seriously_ \-- when the bedroom door creaked open and he felt the mattress dip beside him.

 

“Your mumbling is driving me nuts,” Derek whispered, even though there was nobody else but them.

 

“Good,” Stiles spat, unable to come up with something better.

 

“Shut up,” Derek said, settling down next to him in the dark.

  
Out of sheer spite, Stiles struggled against the tiredness tugging at his eyelids. It shouldn’t be so comfortable and nice to sleep next to Derek. Stiles soothed himself with the thought that it was probably because he was so used to Scott’s body. He fell asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not sure if I'm really satisfied with this but I was taking way too much time, it was driving me nuts. I left some things purposefully vague, because the third season is a bit messy and I'm not sure what the fuck is going on and who/what/when/where/how. So yeah, just know that Boyd and Erica are alive and that's it.

**Author's Note:**

> Uh, this is the first time I actually post a multi-chaptered WIP. I don't think it'll be longer than 5 chapters, but I'm making it up as I go along ("plot" bunnies FTW), so bear with me? It IS 4AM again here, because apparently I can't post at any other time? So sorry about typos and stuff.
> 
> If anyone wants to beta, just shoot me a message on [tumblr](http://yourunwiththewolves.tumblr.com)? :)


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